


Be Your Own Undertaker

by kitchen_sinks



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Pining, Suspicions, excessive mentions of the Thorn Birds lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitchen_sinks/pseuds/kitchen_sinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver was about 90% sure Connor Walsh was a serial killer. Granted, he had little to go off of aside from his suspicious charm and weird fascination with books about burying dead bodies, but people like Connor didn't flirt with people like Oliver without ulterior motives. Did they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Your Own Undertaker

It was a quiet day in the store, even for a small shop like Middleton Books. It had been at least an hour since the little bell above the door had rang, so Oliver did what he always did when he had free time- he read.

Right now he was in the midst of an extremely questionable romance novel called “ _The Thorn Birds_.” The characters were incredibly cliche and the plot somewhat dubious, but he couldn’t help it. He was trash when it came to stuff like this, and so he ventured on.

The plot had begun to shift from relatively harmless material to a steamy love scene between the main character, Meggie, and her beau Ralph. Currently, Meggie was realizing she had married the wrong man- as she had only gotten betrothed to Luke to fill the void Ralph had left in her heart _that was so achingly beautiful and..._

He sat back a moment and reflected on what he just thought, had a moment of shame and embarrassment for getting caught up in such cliche drivel, and continued on. Hey- the smutty parts weren’t half bad. In fact, it was kind of hot if he was thinking about Ralph and all his masculine glory instead of _Meggie_.

He was getting so caught up in the shift of the story, he hadn’t even noticed the ding of the bell above the door or the customer right in front of him, until he heard a slightly irritated man clear his throat and tap on his desk.

Oliver jumped in his seat, accidentally launching his book across the table and onto the floor at the customer's feet. _Fuck_. He was scrambling at his desk and was about to apologize when he looked up at the man in front of him and felt his voice die in the back of his throat. _Oh God_.

He was absolutely gorgeous, despite the fact that he appeared to be scowling. Oliver was fairly certain that his jawbone could cut glass and his eyes looked sharp, like dark pieces of obsidian glinting at him. The man gave off a vibe of confidence, almost arrogance that had Oliver frozen in his seat before he finally got his voice to work long enough to squeak out an apology.

The man stared at him blankly for a moment before reaching down and picking up the book Oliver had dropped at his feet, surveying the cover plastered with a trashy photo of a swooning, painfully heterosexual couple with bad 80s hairdos. His irritated expression melted into one of amusement as he set the book down on the counter and slid it over to an achingly pink-cheeked Oliver.

“You dropped something,” he said, hardly suppressing the smirk on his face.

Oliver could only stare until he was finally able to choke out, “C-can I help you with something?”

“Yes, actually,” the man said, leaning onto the counter in a kind of suave way Oliver was certain that he himself could never pull off. “I’m looking for a certain book, I was hoping you could help me find it.”

“Um… sure,” he said, sitting up in his chair and adjusting his glasses that had begun to slip down his nose. “What’s the title?”

“It’s called _Be Your Own Undertaker: How To Dispose of a Dead Body._ I think it’s by A.R. Bowman.”

Oliver stared at him for a second in silence, a million thoughts whirring through his head- namely-

  1. _Who the actual hell asks for an instructional book on how to dispose dead bodies_
  2. _Is this guy a serial killer? A really attractive serial killer who lures unsuspecting bookstore employees to their deaths?_
  3. _Fuck he is really hot though…_
  4. _I wonder if he’s single… or gay…_
  5. _No! He could be an axe murderer for fucks sake!_
  6. _Do we even have a copy of this book in the store?_
  7. _Fuck fuck fuck why is he staring at me like that_



-among other things. The stranger gave him a quizzical look before he finally snapped out of it and frantically began typing on the keyboard. One quick search later through the store’s stock list and he found they had exactly zero copies of _Be Your Own Undertaker_ in the store.

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely apologetic. “We actually don’t have any copies in the store. I could order you one if you’d like? It would be here in a few days time for you to pick up.”

The man paused a moment, biting his lip in thought and _god fucking dammit_ _how did he manage to look so attractive doing that_.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and Oliver swore he saw a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Order me a copy and I’ll come in to pick it up. Will you be working?”

“Um…” Oliver thought about his schedule for the week, which consisted of mainly work and watching Netflix with his cat. “Probably.”

“Great,” the man said leaning even further onto the counter. “I look forward to it.”

Oliver’s throat suddenly felt very, very dry, and he fumbled at his computer some more before finally managing to open the correct screen. “Can I ah, have your name and phone number? You know, for when the order’s ready?”

“Connor. Connor Walsh.” He managed to sound so cool and collected while Oliver was sweating and stumbling over his words like an idiot. He just busied himself in his computer, barely looking up from the screen as he completed the order.

“Alright, you’re all set,” he said, hitting a few final keys to submit the order. “Check back in a few days and we’ll have it ready for you.”

He looked back up at Connor and felt his throat catch- he was looking right at him, scanning him up and down in a way that made him feel very… exposed. Vulnerable even. _Is this what being checked out feels like?_ Oliver didn’t exactly have much experience in that department, but considering how ridiculously attractive this guy was he assumed not. In fact, the guy was probably looking at him more like he was a fresh piece of meat, perfect for serial-killing. _He’s probably wondering how easily my dismembered body can fit in the back of his trunk…_ he thought to himself.

“Alright, well, see you later then,” he said, interrupting Oliver’s train of thought. He slid his arms off the desk and sauntered out the door- disappearing into the Philadelphia streets.

Oliver wondered if the weird feeling in his stomach was him being excited or nervous about seeing him again.

x

As he turned over the copy of _Be Your Own Undertaker_ in his hands, Oliver still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. He had phoned Connor Walsh earlier that morning to tell him his book was in, but it went straight to voicemail, so he ended up leaving a very uncomfortable message instead that made him cringe just thinking about it.

Hours later, he heard a little _ding_ from above the door frame and the sound of shuffling feet entering the building. It was Connor, dressed in an expensive looking suit and tie and brushing drops of rain off of his coat. Oliver quickly stuffed his copy of _The Thorn Birds_ into his desk and tried to look somewhat decent as he greeted Connor from across the room.

“Hi again,” he said, running his hands awkwardly through his hair as Connor approached the desk.

“Hey,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I just got your message. You have my book?”

“Oh! Yeah, just a second.” After a brief search, he came up triumphant with the copy of _Be Your Own Undertaker: How to Dispose of a Dead Body_. He scanned the barcode, deftly going through the motions of checking out a customer, while Connor just watched. His gaze felt heavy, and Oliver was keenly aware of his every action as he rang him out for his purchase. He printed a receipt and quickly stuffed it in a bag, feeling a slight brush of fingers as he handed it over.

“Thanks,” Connor said, flashing him a genuine smile. He started to walk away, but suddenly stopped halfway to the door.

“Actually-” he paused a moment, turning back to the front counter. “I wanted to order another book. Could you do that for me? Sorry for being such a bother.”

“Oh, no! Don’t worry about it, I mean, it’s my job after all to take orders and check people out and stuff…”

Connor raised his eyebrows, looking mildly amused.

Oliver could feel his cheeks heat up. “Not like that I mean- that came out wrong- I mean like ring people out and stuff. ” _Jesus Christ._ “Ah… what did you need me to help you find?”

“It’s called _Helter Skelter_ by Vincent Bugliosi.”

“Oh, um, yeah actually I think I’ve heard of that one.” If he was remembering correctly, it was a book about the Charles Manson murders, which didn’t exactly help put his suspicions at ease. “You must have some morbid interests.”

Connor just winked in response, and Oliver couldn’t tell if he found it to be ridiculously cheesy, incredibly sexy, or kind of disturbing. He could feel his cheeks involuntarily heating up and decided maybe it was a bit of all three.

“Alright, I’ve got that all set for you. It should be in around Wednesday, sound okay?”

“Excellent, I’ll see you then…” He paused a moment, before saying “I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

“Oh, it’s Oliver,” he said shyly.

“Oliver…” Connor said slowly, sounding it out into open air. “I like that. I like that a lot. I’ll see you soon then Oliver.”

And then, he was gone.

x

Oliver was flipping through channels absentmindedly, trying to find some late night television that wasn’t completely horrible. Nothing good was ever playing on a Friday night, and he supposed it was because most normal people had actual _plans_ , and weren’t at home heating up leftover pasta and playing with their cat.

As if on cue, the microwave beeped. He set the remote and his cat aside on the couch, letting the channel rest on the local Philadelphia news before he got up to retrieve his dinner.

When he came back, pasta bowl in hand, he picked up the remote to switch channels, but stopped when he saw the banner at the bottom of the local news reading in bold letters- “RISE OF MURDERS OF YOUNG TO MIDDLE AGE MEN.”

“-this is the fifth death in a series of seemingly unrelated homicides in 20 to 40 year old men. The victim is suspected to be Michael Keating, a psychology professor who was reported missing a few days prior to the uncovering of the body at the trash dump.”

The screen cut to an image of a burly police officer issuing a press statement. “We are asking the public to please remain calm, and remain vigilant while we continue our investigation. As of right now, we have no knowledge as to if any of these killings are connected in any way.”

“Chief!” Shouted a pushy looking reporter, shoving her microphone towards him. “People are beginning to wonder if Philadelphia has a potential serial killer on the loose. Care to comment?”

“We can neither confirm nor deny anything at this moment in time. Please, no further questions.”

Oliver switched off the tv, a sick feeling coursing through his body. Maybe he was just being paranoid, yeah, he was definitely just being paranoid. _But what if you’re not…_

There’s no way a guy like Connor Walsh would even give him a second glance unless he had some weird ulterior motives, and in this case... Murder, right? What else could explain the superficial charm, or the strange… almost hungry stares.

_What the hell are you saying Oliver, seriously? A serial killer?_ Clearly his imagination was running away with him and making him crazy paranoid, probably due to all the evenings he spent cooped up in the bookstore with nothing but fiction to read. He rolled his eyes at himself and changed the channel, settling for some late-night reality show, and stuffing a forkful of pasta into his mouth. He petted his cat mechanically and tried to focus on anything _but_ Connor Walsh, but he couldn’t help the lingering feeling of doubt that remained.

x

It was almost closing time at Middleton. The sun had sunk down over the horizon hours ago, leaving a pitch black night twinkling overhead. The store was relatively dead at this late hour, and Oliver was just finishing up and getting ready to finally go home, when he heard a familiar chime of a bell.

_Fuck_. It wasn’t Wednesday yet- what was Connor doing here? He, of course, looked gorgeous as usual, even dressed down in jeans and a simple jacket

“Hi Oliver,” he said, giving him a slight nod. He looked a bit… _on edge_. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he seemed strangely fidgety, not exactly like the confident, suave Connor he had seen before.

“Hey…” he said a bit hesitantly.

“I um…” He ran a hand through his his mess of brown hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. “I was just coming to check if maybe you had my book. Like… if it came early or something.”

“Um, no, sorry. I haven’t gotten it yet. It normally takes a bit longer to ship.”

“Oh…”

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s ready.”

“Okay.”

An awkward silence fell over them as Oliver vaguely wondered why the hell Connor was acting so damn weird. _Unless…_ No. He tried to shake all thoughts of serial-killer-related activities out of his head, but his mind couldn’t help but jump to the worst possible conclusion. He sucked in a deep breath, figuring if worst came to worst, he could always reach in his bag and pepper spray the guy, or pull the fire alarm or something.

“...Is there anything else I can help you with? I’m about to close up actually.”

“Oh! No, I’m okay, just wanted to check in on that, that’s all I’m here for.” He gave a somewhat unconvincing laugh and turned to leave. “I’ll see you later,” he said, before closing the door behind him.

Oliver squinted, relatively unconvinced, but went to grab his coat anyways. He had finished inventory and all of his other nightly duties, and flicked off the lights to the shop and headed out the door.

The October air was brisk and howled around him as he headed towards his car parked down the street. A car whizzed past, a gaggle of teenagers hollering out the window, the loud noise making his heart jump. Damn kids. They were probably going to that stupid university bonfire thing he’d heard was going on. It set him on edge and he quickened his pace down the street.

At last his car was in sight, but as he reached in his bag to grab his car keys, he felt a heavy hand clamp on his shoulder.

All his senses went into overdrive as he felt his blood surge with a shot of pure adrenaline. The car keys he was holding were replaced with the container of pepper spray he’d never actually thought he’d have to use, and after a second, he was spraying blindly in the face of the attacker.

He heard a loud cry of pain and saw a man staggering backwards, holding his hands over his eyes. “What the hell was that for!” He shouted, before immediately starting to cough.

Oliver stood frozen and dropped the pepper spray onto the ground. “What do you mean what the hell! What the hell to you Connor! What are you doing following me in the middle of the night!”

“I’m not following you, Jesus,” he said. His eyes were pink and streaming, and for some reason Oliver’s only coherent thought was this was the first time he’d looked unattractive. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out or something!”

“Go… out?” The concept was foreign. “B-but I thought you were a serial killer! With all the weird books and winking and shifty behavior-”

“No you dumbass! I was flirting with you!” He leaned forward and started coughing again. “I was “shifty” because I was nervous. These books are for law, I’m a goddamn law student.”

“I thought you were planning to murder me! And how was I supposed to know, I assumed you were straight!”

“You have the worst intuition. Ah, fuck!” He said rubbing his red eyes once more and wincing in pain. It was then that Oliver felt a horrible twinge of guilt when he realized how preposterous it all sounded.

“Oh God. Oh shit. Connor I am so so sorry. Fuck, let me help you.” He half guided half dragged the blinded Connor down the street and back into the store bathroom. With careful hands, he bent Connor over the bathroom sink where he washed his face, while he frantically googled how long this would last.

“Okay, google said that if you wash it with soap and water you’ll be able to see in like 30 minutes, and it’ll stop burning in about 60.”

“Great,” said Connor, who was still bent over the sink. His voice sounded broken, raw, and scratchy.

“Jesus, Connor-” Oliver didn’t even know where to begin. “I am so sorry. I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” said Connor, cutting him off with the wave of his hand. “In retrospect, grabbing some guy at night on the side of the road probably isn’t the best way to try and get their attention.” He smirked, “At least now you _have_ to go out with me.”

“You… you still want to… do stuff together?”

“I mean, yeah,” he said, turning off the tap. “You do kind of have weird paranoid delusions and stuff but-” he paused, giving him a watery smile, “I still like you. Even if you have a shitty taste in books. _The Thorn Birds_? Really?

“Hey!” Oliver protested, but he was smiling nonetheless.

“You know, there is a movie of _The Thorn Birds_ too.”

“Is this a date?”

“Maybe, perhaps it’s best to watch it when I’m blinded and can’t really see what’s happening.”

“Shut up,” said Oliver, giving him a light shove. “Here, let me drive you home at least.”

“Okay,” he said, and Oliver began to guide him back towards his car.

He couldn’t wait until Wednesday.

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not Be Your Own Undertaker is an actual book for actual people. 
> 
> Also, you're interested in my other stuff you can follow me on tumblr at danhowells-movingcastle ^_^


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